Crossroad Nights
by Wolf-Kin
Summary: The true worth of a soul is most clearly seen in times of crisis. Called to change from ranger into Knight-Captain, Izzy sees every day - and night - at the Keep as its own little crisis.
1. First Night

A/N: Well, I'm back at it again. This one...well, it sprang from a discussion based on what someone would _really_ do, after having an entire Keep thrust on them, with no experience in such matters. This is _just_ after the player has been given the Keep: she is not a Knight yet, nor has done the Haven-run, even. In other words, the Keep is pretty much a pile of rubble. I have vague ideas to continue this in both directions - scenes from the Flagon and later scenes from the Keep - but as it is, this stands alone.

As always, my most humble thanks to witchwolf for editing this; all further comments and constructive criticisms are welcome, and enjoy!

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First Night 

Izzy Wydson, "she of too many titles to mention, much less list", the most recent being "Captain of Crossroad Keep", closed the door firmly in her lieutenant's – or whatever Kana was to her – face, and considered throwing the latch. She discarded the thought, turned around, leaning her back against the door, and breathed out a puff of breath that was almost a sigh. It couldn't _possibly_ be a real sigh, because only swooning damsels in distress sighed, and she _rescued_ said damsels, not acted like them.

The room she had been given was apparently tiny by the Keep's standards – all she knew was that Kana had told her that her _actual_ personal suite was much bigger. But Master Veedle had promised that work would begin on said personal suite just as soon as they finished clearing out the West Wing, and the West Wing would be done right after they finished patching the holes in the walls, and the walls would be done after… _You know, if I had known that __**I**__ was going to have to make this keep battle-ready when I was attacking it,_ she mused, _I would have done less damage. I mean, really, telling the wizards to blast the door open with their spells…! I can still see the scorch marks on the threshold._

Vaguely amused by her line of thought, she lifted up a hand, watching it shake with eyes that didn't seem to be her own. Was she _trembling_, along with sighing? But she couldn't be! She was thinking rationally, wasn't she? Well, maybe not quite, she admitted, thoughts rambling. But she wasn't screaming, she wasn't swooning; she just felt detached from her body, a ghost possessing someone.

And so it was someone else that walked over to the bed shoved against one wall, someone else that toed off her boots and kicked them into the center of the room, someone else who flopped belly-down onto the warm quilt and buried her face into the pillow. She was…and she was not. She decided to do something, then watched as her body did it from a point three feet behind her eyes. And she couldn't even summon up the energy to be worried about such a phenomenon…or care. _"How odd_" was about all the reaction it got.

Izzy wasn't sure how long she lay there, arms tucked under the pillow, sprawled atop the blankets, mind whirling away at nothing at all, sleep eluding her though exhaustion tugged at her body. Heavens knew, there were things she _ought_ to be thinking about and worrying about: she had a whole Keep to run now, with people under her ranging from peasants to merchants to soldiers to professional adventurers, all with different and often conflicting agendas and goals. And she had to somehow balance one group against another, so that everyone got what they wanted with the least amount of resource drain on the Keep…

The Keep. This half-ruin of a citadel. All hers…to repair and brace it and everyone within for imminent attack, if not outright war. And she had but meager resources with which to do everything that needed doing…and intimate knowledge that she was thus going to have to cut corners on some things. More to the point, she also knew that she would have to make unpopular decisions as she tried to act for the good of the entire Keep, tried to get the people ready for the war that _would_ come; by definition, the good of the whole often meant that an individual or a minority group got shorted, which might mean that she would occasionally have to flat-out act _against_ the good of one particular group…and she had yet to figure out how she could make those unpopular decisions without completely alienating herself from the group in question, but knew she had to find the knack of it, and fast.

Huh. Maybe she wasn't thinking of nothing after all. But no matter how her mind chased the ideas, whirling around and around through her brain like a dog after its own tail, she couldn't come up with any answers. And that frightened her more than she was comfortable admitting even to herself…

There came a soft knock on the door, and she turned her head just enough to mumble something loud enough for the person knocking to take it as an assent and enter.

"Captain?" Casavir asked – she couldn't see him, but she could tell by that velvety-deep voice. In her detached state, she allowed herself to think that it was a pity he didn't talk more; he really did have a nice voice. "Supper is ready; Kana says that we should not begin without you…"

Izzy turned her face back into the pillow to mumble something indistinct enough that Casavir was forced to take two steps into the room, from his heavy tread – really, the man could not move silently even _out_ of armor – and prompt again, "Captain?"

"I said," she repeated, turning her head to the side again; her hair got into her mouth, and she was forced to take a moment to spit it out before continuing, "I said, tell her that I'm not coming to supper, so…oh, give me a piece of paper and a quill from the desk."

Baffled, Casavir did as she requested; she propped herself up on an elbow, and absently chewed her tongue as she sloppily wrote out a note, her trembling hands causing odd spikes and loops to her letters. Not caring about the ink splotches that got onto the bed, she dictated it aloud to herself. " 'I, Isofra "Izzy" Wydson, Captain of Crossroad Keep, being of sound and ready mind' – hm, strike that," she muttered as she did so, "sounds too much like a will. Where was…ah, 'of Crossroad Keep, do give – ' Casavir, you don't happen to know what rank Kana is?"

"It would be safe to call her the commander of the Graycloaks at Crossroad Keep." She glanced up, narrowing her eyes at him, wondering if that dry tone had been his attempt at humor, or if he was actually serious. A slight smile played around his lips; he seemed to know what she was up to. _Well, who'd've thought? The paladin isn't quite as thick as his armor!_

Shaking her head to herself, Izzy recorded Kana's title, muttering to herself, " 'Kana, Commander of the Graycloaks at Crossroad Keep, full and expressed permission to begin supper without me, this day,' um…" she scrolled through her mental calendar until she figured out the date, jotting it into the note.

" ' Signed…'" she did so, scrawling her name as she had been taught in the West Harbor village school so long ago, her name almost illegible; thoughtfully, she printed it in block letters below, and then shoved the quill back at Casavir as she shook the note in the air to dry the ink. "There." She thrust the note at him when he came back from putting the quill back on her desk. "Go take this to her and that should suffice so the rest of you can eat – I'm not hungry and you know how Khelgar gets when he's hungry and there's no food forthcoming…"

"Isofra," his steady voice cut across her increasing babbling. "Are you sure you don't want to eat?"

"Oh, I'm really not hungry," she waved it off, the mania building in her; she couldn't seem to stop her tongue from tripping away. "Besides, Kana will probably make you lot stand at attention or some such until I arrive and order you all to sit down, and I've already issued so many orders in this Keep, even though it's my first day, that if I have to give one more today, I might just have hysterics…Oh, gods…I just told you to take that to her and…" she felt her chest tighten, and she felt the tears run down her cheeks long before she realized that she was crying.

And then her breath hitched, a harsh whooshing inhale; she felt the promised hysterics claw up the base of her spine, and her mind literally shut down. She bawled like she'd just seen her last relatives die, even as part of her frantically tallied up the attributes and shrieked that she was turning into one of those hells-cursed swooning, trembling, can't-lift-a-sword _damsels_! Even with that realization, even as she fought to _stop_, to try and behave like the battle-tried veteran adventurer she was…she couldn't. She simply could not stop crying. And she wasn't even sure she knew _why_.

Eyes tear-blinded, she _felt_ Casavir edge toward her, then gingerly sit down on the bed next to her – she had sat up to have her hysterics, so at least she wouldn't choke to boot. He even more gingerly rested a hand on her near shoulder, awkwardly patting it. His obvious discomfort was more effective than a cold slap to her face; with a massive effort, she swallowed her tears and lifted her head, forcing herself to at least _act_ like the leader everyone wanted her to be – or at least, _not_ act like the sniveling coward she had been. "'M sorry," she mumbled, rubbing at her eyes with her fists; her face was probably blotchy, too. Damn those women who could cry gracefully! "Dunno what's come over me…" she hiccupped, not the least bit attractively or daintily.

Casavir cleared his throat. "It is the same as the after-battle shock a new recruit feels."

She managed a harsh laugh. "Well, that's vaguely insulting, considering that I haven't been a new recruit for years." _At least I sound like myself…_If the tears had jarred her out of her disorientation, allowing herself to actually _do_ something and not just watch as she reacted, then perhaps it wasn't _quite_ so bad…at least in the end result. The actual crying still rankled her.

He inclined his head. "You are, however, new to this new position, and so it is unsurprising you experience the same things as any raw recruit."

_Huh_. That did make sense. _Paladin's not as thick as his armor indeed!_ Occasionally, she wondered just how much stoic Casavir actually noticed; he never gossiped about it like Neeshka could, never tipped his hand as to what he knew or what he didn't know. _Hm…_ She stared up at him thoughtfully. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about running a Keep…?"

"I'm afraid my skills, like yours, run more towards managing small groups; squads of soldiers or adventurers. I know about as much as you do or could figure out; but what I do know, I would be willing to share with you," he rather generously offered after his quick denial.

She had a hunch that even if he _did_ know something, paladin vows notwithstanding, he would have shamelessly lied through his teeth about it; she was also fairly sure that his god would have understood if he did lie and thus wouldn't have revoked his paladinhood. After all, power was something everyone wanted, except for this kind of power, which was all responsibilities and no thanks, and she didn't even get the dubious honor of calling Crossroad Keep _hers_. Not really. Not that she _wanted_ to be ennobled, wanted to _own_ this land – the wild ranger that she still was at heart bucked against _that –_ but…by the gods, she should at least be able to call this Keep her own! She was the master of it, and yet she was not; she was _ordered_ to repair the Keep, and soon enough she would be given new orders and torn from the place. She kept trying to convince herself not to get attached.

_Well, it was worth a try…_ she sighed mentally, then turned back to the issue at hand. "Thanks for not laughing." Her voice was still horribly watery, and she involuntarily sniffed. _Damn swooning damsels!_

He honestly looked baffled. "Why would I have?"

"Strong leader like me, always on point, all those battles we've been through, crying like a _lady_…" If anything, he only looked more perplexed, so she dropped it. "Forget it." She sniffed again, hating the sound almost more than she hated the tears, and tried a weak smile: it failed. "Casavir, you should…" _Never tips his hand, never tells what he knows, silent as the grave…_ "No…I just…gods!" she ran a hand through her short-cropped hair – though obviously not short enough, if it could get into her mouth.

"It's just…" she looked away from his fathomless eyes. "I don't know what I'm doing here," she finally whispered, eyes fixed on the pattern of the quilt – and the ink blots she'd added to it. "Everyone's expecting me to be just as successful here as I was elsewhere, but…" she closed her eyes, swallowed hard, and confessed. "I'm _terrified_. This isn't _anything_ like what I've done before, as you've so astutely pointed out, and I…I have this deep fear that I'm going to fail, and that failure will get everyone here killed, even the farmers who just want to raise pigs and plant barley. Hells," she buried her face in her hands, rubbing the heels of her palms against her eyes. "I thought I left all that behind me in West Harbor," she murmured. "So happy to run away from the farmers…I've run right back into them, and now…"

"You _care_ about them," he interrupted softly, and his intense voice caused her to look up. "You care so much you've worked yourself into this state. You care so much about your people that you don't want them to die, but you're not sure how to prevent it. You cannot personally do everything yourself – cannot repair the walls while administrating trade while patrolling and protecting the lands – and so you do what you can do: you worry and fret."

Considering that that was more than he usually spoke all at once, she mulled over his words. "If I was only patrolling…" she mused aloud. "If I only was responsible for meeting threats on my own…I could do that. I've proven my worth in combat. But this is knowing where to send men, and hoping I've selected the right ones and hoping I haven't just sent them off to die…And I don't know how to do that."

"You must trust them," he continued firmly, more unshakable than a granite mountain, "as they trust you to correctly judge their strength. And you cannot let your caring heart do the enemy's work for them, lest by inaction, you doom us all worse than by the _wrong_ action."

She gave a half-laugh, half-sob. "Is that all? I can't…!"

Casavir stood from the bed, standing over her, a thoughtful expression on his face in spite of his imposing stature. "I do not agree with many of Neverwinter's policies," he finally rumbled. "But I do not think Lord Nasher would assign you here if he did not feel you were capable of rising to the occasion."

She took two deep, steadying breaths, letting his words ripple into her; she could lead a small party – well, not so small, now, considering how many "strays" she picked up, from Khelgar all the way to Zhjaeve, who she had just met yesterday. Perhaps it was time to see if she could do more than just that…She herself had seen that she could command large groups, had flashes of such insight into the _how_ and even the _why_, but…those flashes were _only_ flashes, and only in military context: commanding the Graycloaks and Many-Starred Cloaks on the assault of this same keep, coordinating various Watch patrols and duties…She was notoriously bad at dealing with merchants, and only through Sand's smacks upside the head was she getting better at diplomatic dealings.

And yet, all that… _I have to try. Inaction __**is**__ worse than choosing wrong…and maybe I won't choose wrong as much as I think I will…And I __**do**__ have some resources to expend that many don't…_

She looked up at Casavir, as if seeing him for the very first time, and canted her head to one side. "Casavir," she asked slowly, "You wouldn't be interested in leading a patrol of Graycloaks, would you?"

He bowed. "I am at your command, squire Isofra Wyrson."

Her full, formal name gave her pause. You know, you are one of only two people who call me that – well, besides Kana, and I don't think she can help it," she couldn't help but add. "And with the other…" There was always a lump of ice in her heart where she kept Daeghun, making it hard even to think of him. "Perhaps it's a way he tries to keep me from getting close…"

"Perhaps he fears caring too much, as you do," Casavir murmured.

Izzy thought back over Daeghun's grudging care during her childhood, a care that extended only far enough to keep her alive, and quickly changed over to half-neglect as soon as she was old enough to fend for herself, more or less. He didn't deny her food or shelter, but neither did he care if she ran off into the wilderness for hours…or days. She had stopped trying to get his approval – or even disapproval – years ago; she had a hunch that he'd stopped trying to extend affection to her long before that, if he ever had. "Perhaps," she said neutrally. _But I doubt it_ hung unspoken in the air.

Another long, awkward silence stretched, and then she gave a faint smile and gestured to the door, "They won't thank you for making them wait even longer," she whispered. "I'll be alright now, I think."

He nodded, turning to go, then hesitated at the door. "If you ever wish to…to talk again, I am not unfamiliar with the burden of leadership."

She nodded, understanding; insofar as she could tell, it had been that burden that drove him out of Neverwinter and to Old Owl Well, where he thought he could actually make a difference without being shackled by 'the good of the city'. "I'll keep that in mind," she answered softly. "Have a good night."

"And you as well, Captain." And then he was gone.

Izzy flopped back onto the bed, staring up at the stone ceiling a moment – was it just her, or was it a perfect match for the floor? – before rolling over, positioned as she had been before. And like before, her mind was whirling…but this time, she knew what she was thinking, and her plans were actually coherent. Who said she had to do everything on her own when she had an obscene number of companions currently just sitting around twiddling their thumbs? _Casavir commanding a patrol, maybe I'll have him help recruit or patrol the lands; people flock to shiny paladins and that's what he would like to do, respectively. Maybe I can talk Bishop into commanding another…certainly, he knows his way around the woods…just have to find a way to keep him from speaking to the locals…Maybe Sand knows a way. _

Her mind made the natural jump: _Sand knows how to deal diplomatically; maybe he can help keep me from alienating everyone when I have to do a 'for the good of the Keep' decision. He can also probably keep duty-bound Kana in check…one way or another. If Neeshka doesn't know her way around merchants and gold, I'll eat my leathers. Maybe Elanee can do something about the fertility of the lands…Put Khelgar to help train the new recruits…Shandra too?_

Her thoughts became increasingly fragmented, and then slid more into images than into words; in the end, before she finally dropped off to sleep, it was as though she was a great eagle wheeling around the walls of her keep, seeing everyone moving around inside, the Graycloaks acting like soldiers instead of farmboys, patrolling the roads and the lands – the fertile lands! The citadel dominated the landscape for miles around, radiating its presence outward: _Safe_. _Home_. The Keep had come into its own…if only she could see _how_…

But then she lost it, sliding into the old nightmare of Luskan Low Justice…but not into the terror of seeing the stones of the Keep washed red with blood and knowing that it was _her_ fault everyone was dead. She could handle her old nightmare; she didn't want the new one, and with it the fear that it was not a dream, but a vision.

And so passed her first night as Captain of Crossroad Keep.


	2. Darkest Night

A/N: Thanks to those who reviewed, and for being patient waiting for this chapter. As always, enjoy!

Darkest Night

It was just dusk when she came riding up the path back from Neverwinter, the sunset gleaming ruddily on the reconstructed walls of Crossroad Keep. Izzy had to rein in on that last pass above the valley, her new cloak of Knighthood heavy on her shoulders. Conri, her wolf companion by the barest of technicalities – given how often he went off into the woods without her for days on end – padded a few steps forward. When he realized she wasn't following, he looked back at her; through their bond, she got the sense of a question, more a mental smell than a tangible thought, though even that was a poor description for how he communicated with her. After being bonded with him these past few years, she was used to figuring out words from the mess of senses and impressions he pressed on her: in this case, it was like she was smelling the pack all around and a deer a mile off, and was waiting for the cue to begin the hunt.

In response, she shook her head and gestured. The wolf bounded away, vanishing back into the forest, where he spent most of his time. At least he approved of _one_ part of this new life…

But while she dearly wanted to run off after him and never look back she needed time alone with her thoughts, without even her bonded companion intruding.

It had been a long tenday; indeed, it was hard to believe that only a few mornings ago they had returned from Ammon Jerro's Haven, Ammon Jerro himself imprisoned within their grim ranks…and one of their number gone forever.

_Shandra_. The new-minted Knight-Captain set her teeth against the thought, refusing to think about the woman except in the barest of terms. It hurt too much, and she did not dare question why. Not yet. There would come a time when she would have to face it, but not now; she shoved it towards the back of her mind, and forced herself to move on.

_And no sooner than I got back than I was on the road again, "with all possible speed." _Nevalle's orders still rankled even after several days and the whole Knighting ceremony fiasco. At least on her way back home this time, she got to set her own pace… even if she did push the courier mounts to return to her lands "with all possible speed".

_Her_ lands. She had thought, at the onset, that she would buck against a set territory forever. She had thought that she would be forever prowling the borders, longing to go farther, if only because she could. But instead, she had grown accustomed to this territory; she had gotten used to calling it hers, and found it no hardship to prowl within her borders until she knew every hill and dip.

_There are certainly enough of those…_she thought, fondly viewing the mountains that surrounded the Keep on all sides. And, as she nudged her horse's sides and continued on the last leg of her journey, she watched the trees of Conri's – and her – beloved forests give way to hills and farmland. Even she recognized that there too many fields still lying fallow. It seemed only fitting that the shadows of dusk lay thick over the valley; perhaps the lands were fertile, as Orlen and Elanee had said, and perhaps the farms would flourish in time… but not if there was no one here to till the fields in the first place.

The hooves of the light courser clopped over Veedle's pride and joy, the bridges that spanned the river. The water swirling beneath the bridge was dark as pitch, and she couldn't help but wonder if the trout were still biting – and if Wolf and his gang had brought some up to the Keep for supper.

She absently gave her horse its head as they passed the small inn set on the far bank of the river. She shifted her weight forward for the long, steep switchback climb up to the ledge that held the Keep and the lands that immediately supported it. She looked up as the horse made the first turn, seeing the walls looming above her, and felt a shiver in spite of the fact that _she_ commanded those walls. At least her first order had been clear: repair the walls at all costs. And then, once they would physically hold, she let Veedle have fun designing arrow-slits. She_ knew_ that any invading army would have to pay dearly for every inch of ground they gained.

But for her, as well as for any ally of the Keep, the unbreachable gates would swing open, and welcome her home. She could almost see the courtyard through the wall, could picture the rows of buildings, all with their neat thatched roofs…and the perpetual scaffolding cluttering the main thoroughfare. It always seemed like there was some kind of repairs or outright construction going on in the middle of everything. Of course, given what the Keep had looked like _before_ Veedle's workers started swarming all over it…

Repaired, the keep was a true bastion; she could believe that it would be the last defense before an army reached the city of Neverwinter. She _knew_ – knew as Zhjaeve insisted that one must _know_ something deep in their soul, without even the thought of a doubt – _knew_ that the Keep would hold against a normal army.

It was the unearthly army and the unearthly war that worried her…

And while the Keep was not _completely_ a pile of rubble anymore, that only meant that now she really had the hard decisions in front of her: without meaning to, as the horse scrambled up the steepest and last incline, the thoughts rose into the forefront of her mind. In vain, she focused her attention on her horse and its footing, the narrow path treacherous even for the Longsaddle-bred.

But even as she shifted her weight forward again, she wondered if Veedle wasn't right and they shouldn't just cobble all the roads in the valley; he'd been nagging her to do so almost since the day he'd started working for her. _But where will the coin for that come from?_ Kana would have her tax the merchants, but if she taxed the merchants, they would take another route and bypass this pass altogether. The merchants were the life's blood of the Keep; they could not afford to alienate them. She could tax the peasants instead, but there were so few on the lands already she did not have the heart to make life yet harder for them. _We need the peasants, we need the merchants…and we need the roads, but if we cobble the roads, the workers won't be working on the Keep itself, and we __**need**__ the Keep…_

But at least she was in the good books of one undemanding merchant; Deekin had been so happy to have a _roof_ for his shop…if only she could please all the others so easily!

She breathed out a sigh just as the horse crested the last turn with a snort; issues of merchants and roads aside, she _still_ had problems with the Graycloaks. The land needed to be patrolled, but so did the roads, and she had to protect the few peasants and towns on her lands, and there were various requests for assistance piling up, but she could hardly take men away from the patrols… _And we need to find more recruits, and we're going to need more sergeants for those new squads, and they all need to be trained for war, and, and…!_

As they began to pass the Keep's immediate farmlands, she shoved the thoughts out of her mind; she had known that things would take a turn for the worst – so far as her need to _command_ was concerned – sooner rather than later, and she knew she was fortunate they had not been too bad before. But now that the Keep was repaired, there was little to draw her attention from the much greater problems that now clashed in her mind.

But there was nothing she could do about them _now_; the morning would be soon enough to worry. Right now, she just wanted _rest_.

"Almost home," she murmured to the horse, laying a hand on its neck. The horse understood the idea of "rest, soon" if nothing else, and picked up its hooves.

Even as she watched, a single gate cracked open, two Graycloaks with torches passing through to relieve the two on duty outside. Before the evening watch took up their places on either side of the gate, they reached up and lit the larger torches set on either side of the gate. Warm yellow light illuminated a surprising length of the road, and anyone – foe or friend – who might be approaching.

_Friend of the Keep…_She was its master, of course, and not just an ally, but that did not fundamentally change what she dearly wanted from it. She would enter through the gates and get her horse settled into the stables, and then she could _sit_ and eat: she could hardly remember the last time she ate more than a strip of jerky and stale water. Food, aye, and there would be clean, dry clothes, and warmth, and a _bed…_ And all her concerns could just sit out in the cold night until she was ready to face them in the morning.

A farmer with an ox-cart loomed out of the darkness ahead of her, seeming to come from nowhere. It took her a moment to remember that there was indeed always work to be done in the fields, even in these last few months of the year. As she passed them on her swifter horse, they looked up, and stopped their beasts. She could feel them watching her as she passed, but could not for the life of her think of what was so interesting about her: she had passed them countless times _before_ and they never bothered to acknowledge her…

Her first inkling of just _what_ they were staring at occurred at the first gate, the huge main entrance into the Keep. The guards posted on either side came to swift attention as she approached: heads up, shoulders back, torches lifted aloft to grant her more light. They saluted her with a smart rap of the butt of their spears as she passed between them and into the half-tunnel through the wall. _What on earth are they…? They're treating me like a…! _They'd saluted her when she'd been Captain, true, but it had always been a casual thing, an acknowledgement as she passed them. This…this was the full formal salute: before, she had only seen this in Kana's drills. _They're treating me like a __**lord**__…_ _Uh-oh…news travels fast…_

Izzy shook her head, turning her thoughts to the next few moments: A turn and up that steep ramp between the walls and to the inner gates, and then she would be truly home, and could finally get off this horse. She was dully grateful that the sentries standing at attention on the outer wall did not turn to acknowledge her – their duty was to watch for an attack, not to honor the returning Lord of the Keep, and so it was well. But the guards at the inner gate saluted her as the first had done as she passed through, and she forced herself not to stare; Kana had undoubtedly told them to do so, and there didn't seem to be much of a point in gainsaying her second over something that was so trivial.

She wasn't comfortable being saluted, true, but she'd ignore it until a more opportune moment, mainly by focusing on what she wanted: off this horse, a hot bath, sleep for at least twelve hours, a whole haunch of venison to sate her hunger, a goblet of mulled ale…

Caught up in her dreamy vision of the comforts of a settled life, she was surprised when the horse snorted and abruptly halted in the middle of the courtyard, right in front of the ramp leading up to the smaller Upper Courtyard and the keep. She shook her head to clear her daydream, blinking away the wonderful thoughts, trying figure out what had startled the equine – the entire courtyard seemed to be mostly deserted, as it usually was during the night: miners and workers kept Lathander's hours, after all…Perhaps it had been nothing more than an odd shadow, or…?

"Izzy's back!" Neeshka chirped from somewhere beyond her. As the tiefling bounded down from somewhere in the above courtyard – or possibly from the rooftops, but Izzy prayed dearly it was the former – the horse put its ears back and snorted. _Oh. So __**that's **__it…_

"Easy!" Izzy muttered, with little hope the horse would listen. Not even Neeshka's usual mount really liked her, and so Izzy could hardly expect the courier's horse to do any better. Near as she could tell, it was less because of Neeshka's fiendish heritage and more because she was _Neeshka_, and was further unfortunately inclined to large gestures.

There was little point in fighting the inevitable; the horse was _going_ to start, and given how she felt at the moment, she'd rather be on the ground when it happened. She kicked her feet out of the stirrups and dismounted, automatically grabbing her saddlebags and slinging them over one shoulder. One of Wolf's kids ran up from out of nowhere – it was uncanny, how they could do that – and grabbed the bridle of the exhausted gelding. A single head-toss was all the complaint the horse gave at the sudden change, and then the kid was trotting off towards the stables with the horse placidly following behind.

_Wait…__**I**__ wanted to do that…_ She actually liked taking care of the horses, when she could…but she was cornered by her companions and the kid was already gone, so there was no use running after him. She shrugged to herself: what was done was done, and she couldn't change it. She could barely deal with what she _could_ change.

By that time, Neeshka was upon her, and she found herself subject to more attention than she would have liked.

For whatever odd reason, Neeshka had it in her head to give her a hug, whether or not she wanted one. She never knew what to _do_ during hugs, but Neeshka hardly seemed to care that she stood rigid and tense during the whole affair.

When she pulled back at last, Neeshka snapped her fingers. "Here, Wolf," she said, and passed off Izzy's saddlebags to the stocky boy – _Where did he…? …So __**that's**__ why she hugged me… _– "how about you take these into the Keep?"

"You got it," Wolf said. "Er…" he looked shiftily left and right, then shifted his armload to lick his thumb, tug twice on his right ear, then flick a finger across the tip of his nose.

Neeshka rolled her eyes and shrugged. "Go ahead and look if you want, but I already checked, and _trust me_, she doesn't have anything on her."

Izzy bit back a groan, but she had little opportunity to protest; by that time, the rest of her mismatched company had all heard the news, and had all finally made their way over to wish her welcome from various directions, effectively walling her in bodies.

She tried to shove her nagging sense of claustrophobia aside as Khelgar went so far as to pat her on the shoulder; the most she managed was to work her sense of impending doom down to a minor itch of irritation at the back of her mind. "Welcome back, lass," Khelgar gruffly muttered, and then Elanee took his place with quiet ease, and then Grobnar was on her other side, beaming and rambling through a variation on Khelgar's short greeting.

And everyone seemed to know she'd had a hard couple of days…but not enough to give her space.

One voice finally cut across the babble of welcoming, snapping her attention beyond the circle. "Welcome home to your humble Keep, oh Knight-Captain," Bishop drawled from where he'd been leaning, unnoticed up to now, against the wall.

"How in the _Nine Hells_ do you already know?" Izzy couldn't help but snap as she automatically turned her steps towards the Phoenix Tail Inn, shouldering her way through her companions on the off-chance some of them would wander off. No such luck… _Of course_. They followed in her wake like a billowing cloak, and their very presence began to rub at her.

Bishop snorted, giving her a quick once-over, then began to tick off features on his fingers. "Cloak of Knighthood; tunic of Neverwinter Blue _and_ the Eye; shiny _spurs_ of Knighthood on your heels; and unless my eyes mistake me – and they never do – you've got a Sword of the Knighthood there at your side."

…_Oh, __**gods**__…_ She stopped dead in her tracks, feeling the embarrassment start at her toes and flush its way up her spine; she rocked back on her heels and pressed her eyes closed briefly. How in the Nine Hells had she forgotten about the sword, much less the cloak or the spurs?

Bishop, hunter that he was, scented the wound and closed in for the kill. "Thought you'd have been quicker on the draw, _ranger_," he sneered, "or does knighthood blind you as well as bind you?"

"Leave her be, Bishop," Casavir cut him off as the paladin strode up from commanding the night watches – or so she assumed, as he was still in his armor, sword at his side. "We all have heard what happened at Castle Never. She is tired and it is little wonder she is not up to her usual standards."

"'Not up to her usual standards'," Bishop mimicked Casavir mockingly, "You gonna say that again when she gets us ambushed one dark night?"

_Welcome home to Crossroad Keep… Maybe I won't tell him __**quite**__ yet that I managed to end up as one of the Nine to boot…once I figure out __**how**__ I managed to do it, then we'll talk._ Izzy wearily thought as she held up her hands for attention. "Look, you're both right: Yes, I'm tired, and yes, I should have been paying better attention. Satisfied?"

_No_, their combined gazes chorused. But they seemed to agree to reschedule the fight for a more opportune time, like when she would actually _attend_ to their words, and didn't pursue the matter further. At least she'd have an…_interesting_ lecture to look forward to later. As she started for the Inn again, she vaguely remembered a time when she didn't have two men sniping at each other through her – life had been a lot quieter back then. _And a lot more boring too, admit it_.

"To attack Castle Never..." Khelgar rumbled from his just behind her, cracking his knuckles as he was wont to do when he was troubled – _or thinking or getting ready to fight or bored or…_her tired and thus rambling mind prompted– "they're getting bold, they are."

Izzy nodded, raising one hand to rub at the back of her neck. "Yeah…" she agreed softly. She shook her head, dislodging the cobwebs that some industrious mental spider was now insisting on weaving between and among her thoughts, and shifted her hand from her neck to her temples, never pausing in her steps. By now, she could almost find her way blindfolded through the Keep. She had no worries about getting to the Inn. "Worries me," she added in an undertone. _Though what doesn't, by now?_ the snide part of her that still resented being drafted into this mess piped up. She stuffed it into the back of her mind, letting it keep the spider and her Knightly duties company. "Makes me wonder _why_…"

_Wait a minute…_ In the vacuum left by her cleared thoughts, she realized that she was still heading for the Inn…even though her quarters were actually within the Keep. _Oh, __**gods**__…_She sheepishly did an about-face, trying not to look at her companions as she cut through them; she really didn't need what they thought of her continual lack of common sense.

Izzy took a step forward, looked up, and found herself nose-to-nose with Ammon Jerro, who was regarding her with his usual faint sneer.

"Because they've gotten strong enough to do so," her bluntly informed her in his gravelly voice, folding his arms over his chest. "It won't be long before there is open warfare and not just these small strikes. And what efforts are being made in the war?" he snapped the question, not bothering to disguise his annoyance – though that word was too light to convey his _need_ to know, and his assumption that she would roll over and tell him all he wished – "Will Nasher commit his forces? And what of Waterdeep and the Lords' Alliance?"

She fixed him with a long, tired stare, feeling every moment of her years weighing down on her shoulders – how could twenty-two years be so _heavy_? – until she felt as old as Daeghun or Sand…or both together. _He's blocking my way…_When all she wanted to do was lie down, he wanted to hear more reports than Kana could ever issue. _He demands that I answer to him, as if he was still in charge of this war…_

_As if he hadn't murdered Shandra_. Just a hint of bloodthirsty eagerness entered her thoughts, and quickly swelled to dominance. _Murderer_…the word and the image of what he had done brought the wild in her to her surface, though deep with the _need_ for justice…and when justice failed, she would take cold, bloody revenge instead. _Someone can distract Casavir while those who feel the need to rip him apart do so… _

Not tonight, though; she let the thought go with some regret, let it sink away for a more opportune moment…And the exhaustion now inherent in her bones rose up in a wave and numbed the pain of the bleeding wound, submerged the anger that had flared up within her; raw fury took too much energy, energy she flat-out didn't have at the moment. So long as she didn't keep talking to him, didn't keep reminding herself just what he had done and what she wanted to do to him, she could live with him.

She ignored Jerro's demanding questions, then, and focused on ones of her own that just might have answers – and nudged the irritation further into the back of her mind by turning her back on him to ask her companions, "Knighthood is one thing – how did you lot learn of the attack?"

Sand stepped forward with a small smile. "I believe _I_ should take credit for that dubious honor; I – shall we say – _kept an eye on_ your progress to the city."

Most, if not all, of her surprise must have shown on her face, for Neeshka snorted. "'Report to Castle Never at once'," she said in a fair mimicry of Sir Nevalle's voice. "'This Keep will have a new Knight Captain before twilight' – yeah, that doesn't sound suspicious _at all_."

A group of miners exited the Inn and flowed around the group like a river around a boulder; their rowdy banter was more than enough to cause a break in their own conversation, even as everyone seemed to find it necessary to shift closer to Izzy… She tried not to scream in frustration. She felt a headache born mostly of exhaustion and exasperation tapping at her temples. _Not now,_ she told it, on the off-chance it would actually listen and back off. No such luck; sometimes – actually, fairly often these days – she understood at least one reason why Daeghun didn't like dealing with people.

Still, out of sheer curiosity, she had to ask, "And if something _did_ happen, what would you have done? Neverwinter's a three day ride from here!"

"Do you really have that little faith in me, oh glorious leader?" Sand asked in the ironic tones that Izzy always associated with high nobility and court life – not that she'd ever actually been in court life before yesterday, but even she had heard stories, and she'd spent literally half her life out in the wilds. Gods…the memory of the brief glimpse she'd had into the Neverwinter Court was enough to start a tic throbbing in her forehead at the very best of times. Wisely, she focused on Sand; she didn't want to add fuel to the fire kindling in her. She didn't exactly need to: fuel was adding itself quite nicely on its own. "You weren't even out of the gates before they had me researching and preparing a spell of teleportation."

"Wait…" She managed to shift over, pace a couple of steps, just enough to have her hackles settling. Thinking clearer now, she went back to something Sand had said earlier, something she still didn't understand…but also at least partly because she sensed Ammon glaring at her, incensed at being ignored – how wise it was to needle a warlock with a legion of lesser devils and demons at his beck and call was questionable, but she was still annoyed enough to want to. "I thought there were wards up around Neverwinter that made it impossible to scry in…"

Sand, being Sand, had an answer ready…And Sand, being Sand, felt the need to pace and prowl like a feline as he lectured. Unfortunately, with her luck, that meant he almost stepped on her toes several times. "It _is_…tricky to scry into Neverwinter," he admitted, "and harder still into Castle Never, but _that_ wasn't the problem." _Of course it wouldn't be…_This was _Sand_; if he could find a legal precedent in the metaphorical haystack, he could figure out how to slip under the wards and scry into the castle. "The Shadow Reaver that showed up," Sand continued dryly, "_that_ threw a kink into everything. The magical energies…" he glanced at her, must have seen her eyes glazing over in preparation for the arcane lecture that was sure to follow, and almost visibly edited his words, "…were enough to overwhelm my scrying."

That _still_ made no sense. "So…the presence of the Shadow Reaver canceled out your spell?" she hazard. "How can they do that?"

Sand pinched the bridge of his nose. "No, it _overwhelmed _it. It is like…" he hunted for an analogy she would understand, "When a flare or a spell of Darkness engulfs you on the battle – if you are not expecting it or have trained to work your way around its effects, you are completely blind and helpless."

"But…" she frowned in thought. "Couldn't you still – "

"Do you _wish_ to spend three days discussing it?" Sand asked silkily, whirling to face her. "While I would be more than happy to further your knowledge of the arcane, I somehow doubt you'd appreciate it as much as I would."

Wisely, she dropped the subject. He was probably right, and talk of magic always gave her a headache – she dreaded to think what continued talk would do to the one she already had. "So, you could scry up to the Shadow Reaver's appearance – " she was _not_ going to think about how or why, but would take his answer on faith, " – But after…?"

"_Some of us_," Sand shot a look towards Casavir, "were all for charging into the situation blind. But as we didn't know _what_ had happened, only that we could no longer _see_ you, _wiser_ heads prevailed," there was a touch of smug pride in his voice, just in case anyone was in doubt just who the 'wiser heads' were, "and we eventually agreed to wait for any news that could be had. _Some of us _were not happy with this turn of events and made their displeasure loudly known."

"If she had been in danger – _as she __**was**_ – " the paladin began hotly, taking a step forward, hand to his sword hilt almost in spite of himself.

" – We would have just joined her in dying, stumbling in unprepared, not knowing _what_ she was facing," Sand shot back. "And if she _hadn't_ been, hm? Would she have _appreciated_ our blundering into a peaceable situation to defend her? Nevalle certainly wouldn't have…"

And now the headache was fully formed and throbbing merrily away. She squeezed her eyes shut, wondered if she could slip away while they were arguing, and almost tried it before she decided against it; with the way her luck had been running, they'd notice or, at the very least, corner her later. _And if not them, then worse, Kana. _Better now than later…Later, she might not be consciously struggling to hold back the undertow of annoyance.

She cut them off with a gesture and a physical step away from the brewing conflict. And perhaps she could start slinking towards the Keep proper, and they'd get the idea and let her _go_, so she could deal with the lot of them in the morning. "I really don't need to _hear_ the argument: I get the idea," she informed them with tired annoyance. Gods…Her head hurt, she was more exhausted than she had ever been in her life, she was trying to adjust to her new rank and thus the new responsibilities laid upon her via the direction the Keep had turned in, say nothing of the whole Jerro issue they were all still coping with; _she didn't need this now_.

Fortunately, her companions heard her increasing irritation and backed off from the subject. She had just a moment to be grateful and to take a few more steps towards the Keep before Ammon Jerro jumped into the breach. In the sudden silence, he took control of the conversation and pressed his points; given the tone of his voice, his aggravation matched or bested hers. _Probably bested: _he had a lot more experience with nursing grudges and slights than she did. "If you are quite done _wasting time_ with this inane discussion…"

Her anger, never _very_ far from the surface of her mind, surged again, annoyance rearing up through the exhaustion to seize control of her mind again. Something snapped within her – she couldn't tell if it _broke_, or if two things clicked back into place. Either way, everything seemed so simple and clear now, so _easy_: she'd had enough of his massive arrogance, enough of his tone, _enough_ of his very presence before her.

_Murderer…_It hadn't been all that long since he'd killed Shandra. Just two nights…Two nights to brood on that death. Except it _hadn't_ been two nights, really – she had been awake that whole time; exhaustion was not conductive to rational thought. Her heart kept insisting that she _should_ have been able to prevent Shandra's death…or failing that, demanding retribution from her murderer, in one form or another.

She turned eyes that were _bleak_ with anger on him. One step, then two, and then she was standing before him, her emotions writ large on her face: fury, grief, disgust…and resignation. The bitter brew twisted her mouth, tightened her shoulders, made her move like a stalking wolf. Behind her, she heard a mutters of general approval from the pack – the issue of Ammon Jerro was the only thing they all somewhat-agreed upon, and even then their opinions on _how_ to deal with him spanned the entire spectrum. She could swear she heard Neeshka taking odds on how it would end, but forced herself to ignore them.

This was between her and Jerro.

"Listen to me," she hissed as she stopped before him, meeting his eyes squarely. "You are here because you have to be – _no more_. You have no right to give me advice – or orders!" _One wolf leads…And that had damn well better be me._

"_You_ need my help," Ammon bluntly returned, eyes brighter than usual with anger. _No, not a good idea to annoy a warlock_…she was surprised how _cheerful_ the thought was, how blissfully uncaring. Exhaustion really did trump rational thought; it both intensified her anger, and let disjointed thoughts slid into the background. "Like it or not," Ammon continued, "we have a common enemy to fight, one that I have been fighting for longer than you have been alive."

"And I've been doing it quite well on my own," she snarled. "Even when I had to fight _you_ right along with the gith and the King of Shadows!"

If anything, his condescending intensified. "You naïve little fool," he began slowly, "If you had the _sense_ to stay out of matters beyond you, you never would have _had_ to fight me." _And none of this would have happened._

"So this is _my_ fault?" she sputtered, struck by the injustice of his statement – _she_ hadn't been the one who murdered Shandra in cold blood, after all.

"It wasn't your fight!" he barked.

"Just as _West Harbor_ wasn't our fight?" she demanded; if Shandra's murder was a bleeding wound, the gith attack on West Harbor and Amie's subsequent death – say nothing of her _mother's_ death during the _first_ attack! – was a scabbed one. It was painful when she thought of it, yes, but it was not quite so new; she was used to carrying it, by now. Against all odds, when the hells and shadows simultaneously invaded West Harbor, they had _fought_, though no one had known _why_.

She expected him to growl something back at her, expected more anger from those hellish eyes; he had been angry and surly on the forced march back to the Keep, and little else. _Never showed an ounce of remorse_…Why should this be any different? She was surprised, then, to see him pause, a flicker of something indefinable in his eyes; he did not fidget, did not even unfold his arms from his chest or take his eyes from hers…but he seemed to recoil, now more thoughtful than angry. She blinked, drawing back in affront and just a bit of confusion. _He backed off?..._ _Just from reminding him of West Harbor…?_ She couldn't help but make a mental note of the topic; she would use any weapon to hand to hurt him.

"I won't argue more with you tonight," he finally said, softer now, shoulders slumping as the defiance left him…or at least subsided to a more manageable amount. "You're hardly rational…less than usual, anyways."

Still more than a little startled at the sudden turn, Izzy staring at him, trying to judge his mood. As usual, it was an effort in futility – all she could tell was that he was tabling the debate for now. _A cutting truce…but a truce. I can live with that. Until I'm better rested._ She expelled a long breath, taking a step back from him, and felt her anger slid back from the forefront of her mind; the whole process felt like waves crashing up onto a beach, only to slide back into the sea and leave her as she was before – at least until something else tripped her currently short temper. She wished her limbs didn't feel like lead, wished the anger hadn't taken so much out of her until she felt like…well, like she'd been three days and through several battles without sleep, with only adrenaline to keep her on her feet and more or less sane.

She could wish all she wanted; wishing wasn't going to help her. Izzy nodded her acceptance of Ammon's offered respite, and brushed passed him at last, continuing on her way. She longed for her own bed in the Keep, and figured she might as well start walking there _now_. But…there was something else, wasn't there? _Nasher's orders…_She grimaced, and turned to address her crew one last time. They had already started to drift away to their own pursuits, the entertainment of the evening over. But they turned back quick enough, each with varying degrees of interest and concern.

"I…we…Nasher gave me new orders for the Keep. I'll give you a full briefing in the morning: you've undoubtedly heard rumors anyways…And it's not like I'd be able to stay awake through one tonight," she admitted.

"I suppose we all can _somehow_ contain our curiosity for _one_ night," Sand remarked dryly.

Neeshka snorted. "Speak for yourself."

"Wasn't like I was going to attend anyways," Bishop muttered under her breath.

_Not again…_Izzy almost rubbed her temples. _Not tonight…_ She didn't want to deal with Bishop's streak of independence – usually calculated to cause the most problems possible among the company. In the morning, when her mind was clear, she could herd him by the barest of hints – or try to, anyways. _Damn the man!_ Her annoyance rolled within her, disproportional to his offense: usually, she was more than willing to let him go his own way, but at the moment… _For one day, just __**one**__…_

But before she could think of some way of addressing him, Casavir stepped in with what she needed to say but could not find the words. "You're under no obligation to attend, Bishop."

"Well now," Bishop said with a sneer, "that's reassuring. Thank you, _paladin_."

Casavir appeared to ignore his tone, the insult in his title. "You will, as ever, go your own way – though I notice that you have not yet left. However, the rest of us shall take value in loyalty freely given and returned." In spite of his level tone, Izzy could hear the cut in his words: sounded like she wasn't the _only_ one on a short temper right now…

As Bishop bristled, but for once in his misbegotten life held his tongue for a more opportune moment, Ammon grudgingly admitted, "One night is unlikely to change much in the war."

"_Know_ that the warlock speaks true," Zhjaeve joined the conversation at last, voice as distant and mystic as it always was, giving no hint as to what she _truly_ thought of the situation. "The shadows are slow to grow, and will not overwhelm us in one night of rest."

_How did I get stuck with Nasher's board of advisors again?_ she wondered absently. Granted, most of the time – especially when she had no earthly idea of how to proceed – she was _very_ happy they all were…rather vocal about expressing their opinions. Other times…Right now…She repressed a sigh, and bit her tongue on the sharp retort bubbling to her lips; it was just a product of exhaustion and ill-temper, and as such, she'd regret it later. Besides, they – in particular Ammon and Zhjaeve – were right; no need to snap at them for _saying_ it. _Huh. Who'd have thought? I've learned some tact after all…Or maybe it's wisdom…_

Well, either way, she did not mockingly ask them if she had their leave to depart. Instead, she gave voice to her second, deeper impulse: she gave in to her exhaustion. She nodded, closed her eyes, and whispered, "Alright. Alright, then." She opened her eyes as she gave a wry grin that soon faded; she was too tired to hold it long. "I'm going to go sleep for, oh, eighteen hours. If the world ends, don't wake me."

The statement drew the quiet chuckles she was aiming for…except for one. Casavir inclined his head, murmuring, "Rest well, Knight-Captain."

Considering his usual reserve, she was absurdly touched by the small sentiment. She nodded, and headed towards the Keep. _Bed_, she reminded to herself, and staggered off towards her vaguely remembered quarters, praying she didn't get lost on the way.


End file.
